


Danger at the Green Dragon

by orderlychaos



Series: C/C Detective AU [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Clint and Natasha BFFs, First Time, Get Together, Intrigue, M/M, Nick is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just supposed to be a night on the town when Phillip Coulson and his new associate, Clint Barton, catch up with old friends at the Green Dragon Club.  Yet, nothing is ever quite that simple for the famous detective.</p><p>This time, however, a brush with danger might lead to a few confessions that have been a long time coming and Phil and Clint might finally get what they've wanted all along, thanks to DANGER AT THE GREEN DRAGON.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Evening of Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SevenCorvus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevenCorvus/gifts).



> To Sevencorvus. I hope you have a FABULOUS BIRTHDAY! I hope this meets your request ;)  
>  
> 
> It is not necessary to have read Part 1 for this, but if you want to, you should, because then you can enjoy all the fun of Phil and Clint first meeting ;)
> 
> As always, thank you Henry for the amazing help and letting me rant and flail at you. Thanks to Yakkorat for the flailing and the editing! And thank you to Vamp for help with the medical stuff. Love you all! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Note: Due to a very hectic month in real life, I didn't quite manage to finish this on time. The second and final chapter is almost written and I hope to have it posted sometime over the weekend!

_Apartment 401, Regent’s Court, London, July 20th, 1934_

“You know, you really need to hire a secretary.”

Phillip Coulson, the famous detective, looked up from his case notes at the familiar voice of his associate and watched as Clint Barton sauntered into his office with a smirk.  As usual, Clint was sans jacket with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing his muscled forearms, and he was holding a cup of tea in his strong hands.  When he caught Phil looking, Clint quirked an eyebrow, his smirk sliding into something flirtatious.   Phil resisted smiling in reply, because Clint specialised in being entirely too distracting for Phil’s peace of mind and Clint really didn’t need any more encouragement.

“I am _not_ letting you near my files again,” Phil said, gratefully accepting the cup and saucer when Clint held them out.  He was still dealing with the chaos that had resulted from Clint’s last attempt to ‘organise’ them.

Clint snorted.  “It would stop me from being relegated to your tea boy,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with being my tea boy.  It’s a very prestigious position,” Phil replied, unable to hide the smile beginning to curve his mouth.  Clint huffed out a laugh in reply.

Phil still found it hard to believe Clint had only sauntered his way into Phil’s life a month ago.  Somehow, Clint had become so entangled in everything that Phil could barely remember when Clint didn’t live in his spare room and divert him from cases and notes with surprise kisses and hot, lingering stares.  His once ordered life was now filled with mess and Clint’s continued and determined attempts to drag him off to bed -- but Phil wouldn’t change any of it for the world.  He’d resisted Clint’s seduction so far, because their partnership was still new and Phil was a cautious man at heart.  Life had taught him what happened when he leapt without looking and yet Phil was still holding back, bound by fear of what would happen this time.  It might have been cowardly, but Phil hesitated to change things between himself and Clint, because he wanted forever and he wasn’t sure what would happen if Clint didn’t.

“Shilling for your thoughts?” Clint asked him softly and Phil felt the soft press of rough fingers on his forehead, right where he got creases when he frowned.

Phil blinked out of his reflective daze to find the other man actually sitting on his desk and physically covering half of the notes Phil had been transcribing, Clint’s sharp eyes watching Phil carefully.  Phil smiled slightly in reassurance as Clint’s gently stroked his fingers down the side of Phil’s face, before dropping his hand.  “I thought the saying usually involved a penny?” Phil replied.

“Yes, usually,” Clint agreed, his familiar infectious smile returning to his face. “However, experience has shown me your thoughts are usually worth more.”

Phil was a little surprised at Clint’s explanation and definitely touched by it. “Be that as it may,” he said, unable to _not_ smile back at Clint, “did you come in here for a reason or are you just generally being a disruption again?”

Clint looked amused. “I’m your faithful tea boy,” he said.  “Is it not enough that I keep you in supply?”

When Phil sent him a flat look, he smiled.  “We have received an invitation,” Clint said in a more serious tone, tugging a fancy-looking letter out from where he’d tucked it inside his waistcoat.  “At least, I assume it’s an invitation.”

“If Stark is attempting to lure us to another one of his elaborate parties, my answer is still no,” Phil warned, taking the letter when Clint held it out to him.

“So does that mean you won’t be joining me for a drink at the Green Dragon tonight either, then?” Clint teased.

Phil paused in opening the letter to arch an eyebrow at Clint.  “I hardly think you need my help to cause trouble,” he said.  “Particularly given the state of your clothes when you came back last night.”

“Maybe it’s not your _help_ I’m looking for,” Clint said, leaning forward into Phil’s space and his blue eyes glittering with mischievous amusement.  “Maybe I just think it would be more fun to end up dishevelled together.”

For a moment, Phil was mesmerised by that bright gaze, the scent of Clint’s cologne elusive even with Clint leaning so close.  Then, clearing his throat, Phil blinked to break the stare.  Clint leaned back again, mischief still dancing in his eyes.  Turning his attention back to the envelope and away from the tempting scoundrel sitting on his desk, Phil finished opening the letter and held it out so Clint could lean over again and satisfy his own curiosity if he wanted.  Clint seemed happy to let Phil read it first, but when he was done, Phil couldn’t help arching another eyebrow and wordlessly passed the invitation to Clint. “I... Who is Nicholas Fury and do we want to be invited out to dinner by him?” Clint said finally.

Phil opened his mouth to reply and before he closed it again at Clint’s narrow-eyed look.  “He’s one of your old spy hunting friends, isn’t he?” Clint  said.

“Yes,” Phil agreed mildly, trying to fight his growing amusement.  “My old boss, actually.  I saved his life once or twice.”

Clint raised his eyebrows.  “Impressive,” he said.

“Hardly,” Phil countered, taking a sip of his tea to cover the way Clint’s compliment made him look away as warmth twisted through him.  “I haven’t told you _how_ I saved his life.”

“I refuse to believe the method was anything less than exceptional,” Clint told him.  “You don’t do things any other way.”

Phil felt heat climb into his cheeks.  “Regardless,” he said, clearing his throat.  “Would you like to accompany me this evening?”

Blinking, Clint opened his mouth and then closed it again, before shrugging.  “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your dinner with an old friend,” he said quietly, not quite meeting Phil’s eyes.

Phil was surprised by the gesture in the normally confident man.  Reaching out, he gently rested his hand on Clint’s arm, feeling the warm, firm muscle beneath the fabric.  “You’re always welcome, Clint,” he said.  “In fact, I would like very much for you both to meet.  I think you’d like Nick.  Like you, Nick is not what everyone expects.”

Clint hesitated again, before smiling softly.  “Is is all right if Natasha joins us?” he asked.  “I already told her we could catch up for a drink this evening.”

“Of course,” Phil said, taking his hand away from Clint’s arm with effort and immediately missing the warmth against his fingers.  “I think Nick could learn a thing or two from meeting Natasha Romanoff.”

Chuckling, Clint stood up from where he’d been sitting on Phil’s desk.  “Well then, I shall leave you to your case notes so we might attempt to make dinner on time,” he teased, winking at Phil before he sauntered out again.

Phil watched him go, his eyes sweeping down the strong line of Clint’s back to linger on Clint’s rear.  When he realised what he was doing, Phil flushed and glanced down at his tea cup.  Taking a final sip, he set it aside and attempted to focus his thoughts back on his case notes and away from his distracting associate.

 

 

*~*

_The Green Dragon Club, London, July 20th, 1934_

Clint stepped into the main dining room of the Green Dragon Club and smiled.  Known as much for being exotic as for its discretion, the Green Dragon was definitely one of Clint’s favourite clubs.  The place was respectable enough, but few members of polite society appreciated its more avant-garde nature.  At least, unless they were people like Clint and Natasha -- and apparently, famous detectives like Phil Coulson.  Clint had been surprised to learn that he and Nick Fury regularly met here for dinner when they were both in London and not caught up in their work.

Shooting Phil a look, Clint let his eyes linger on the expert fit of Phil’s evening wear over Phil’s shoulders and the broad, strong line of Phil’s back.  For the last month, Clint had patiently been walking the fine line between friend and lover, trying to work out what it was that was holding Phil back.  Phil was loyal, steady and the type of man Clint could rely on forever, if he let himself.  The closest Clint had ever had to that kind of future was Natasha and yet he _wanted_ it with a depth and need that had surprised him.  He couldn’t blame Phil for being hesitant about Clint’s feelings when Clint was finding it so hard to articulate that he would do just about anything if Phil was willing to let him stay.

Phil, who always seemed to know when Clint was watching him, turned and quirked an eyebrow in question.  Clint shook his head in reply, because as much as he might need to muster up the courage to say something, this was hardly the venue for that kind of discussion.  Instead, Clint swept his eyes over the rest of the dining room.  Unlike the Savoy Hotel, with its formal and pristine white tablecloths, the Green Dragon had tables covered in green cloth, emphasised by pieces of intricately patterned silks.   Large, twisting candelabras stood near the walls, which were also hung with silks and bold, bright paintings and various artefacts brought back from around the Orient and the world.  The room was dimly lit and smoky, a small stage set up the corner for the band and a dance floor next to it.  The overall mood of the Green Dragon was lush and indulgent and away from the prying eyes of polite society, the various well-dressed people around the room leaned in close and relaxed in a way they couldn’t elsewhere.

When Clint’s eyes slid to the corner of the room, he felt his smile grow when he saw the familiar, graceful figure of Natasha Romanoff.  Wearing an elegant cream satin dress that bared the pale skin of her shoulders, with her vibrant red hair curled intricately at the nape of her neck and diamonds sparkling at her ears, Natasha looked every inch the royalty she was.  Few people realised that she kept a rather large knife in her garter and wasn’t nearly as harmless as she looked.  Even so, when Clint caught sight of the dark haired man walking towards her table, he immediately started towards her.  “I’d better go and help our fair damsel,” he said, leaning in to speak the words in Phil’s ear.

“I wouldn’t let Natasha hear you calling her a damsel,” Phil replied, his grey-blue eyes bright with amusement.

Clint grinned back.  “She loves me,” he said with a wink, walking backwards a few steps as he passed Phil to watch Phil roll his eyes in reply.

In a move that he and Natasha had perfected years ago, Clint reached for a cigarette as he approached Natasha and the man, hiding his amusement at Natasha’s dismissive glance in the man’s direction.  “You wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?” Clint asked the man, smiling in reply when the man produced one.

Blowing out a plume of smoke, Clint kept smiling at the man until he got the hint and beat a hasty retreat.  As Natasha said, nothing scared off suitors faster than one of Clint’s chilling grins.  Letting his smile turn to one of genuine amusement, Clint pulled out a chair and sprawled casually into it.  “Hello, darling,” he greeted.

Natasha raised her martini for a delicate sip, her red-tipped fingers curling around the stem of her glass as her equally red lips curved up into a smirk.  “Clint,” she returned.  “And where is our charming detective?”

“Waiting for his friend,” Clint said, shrugging slightly.

Arching an eyebrow, Natasha studied him for a moment.  “If I didn’t know better,” she told him, “I’d almost think you were trying to introduce me to a reputable gentleman.”

Clint gasped theatrically and pressed a hand to his heart.  “Would I do that to you, Natasha?” he said.  When Natasha rolled her eyes in response, Clint laughed softly.  “I swear, he’s just one of Phil’s old friends.  A spy, I think.”

“Intriguing,” Natasha said, taking another sip of her martini.

Opening his mouth to reply, Clint felt the words dry up on his tongue and his eyes go wide.  Walking up to the table was a very tall and imposing dark-skinned man.  Unlike the other guests at the Green Dragon, he wasn’t wearing black tie evening wear, but rather a completely black suit and waistcoat, over a equally black shirt and tie.  Clint wasn’t sure if the completely black suit was more or less intimidating than the eye-patch the man wore, but he was definitely impressed.

Trying to hide the fact that he was gaping, Clint turned his attention to Phil, who was looking very amused.  “May I introduce Mr Nick Fury?” he said, nodding towards his friend.  “Nick, this is Mr Clint Barton and Miss Natasha Romanoff.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Fury,” Natasha said smoothly, seeming to take pity on Clint’s stunned silence.

“I could say the same about you, Miss Romanoff,” Fury replied.  “I’ve heard many interesting things.”  His eye flicked towards Clint and he grinned.  “About both of you.”

“Well,” Clint quipped, wishing he had a drink in his hand.  “We’re both definitely very… _interesting_ people.”

Fury laughed.  Pulling out a chair, he settled into it regally and they paused in conversation as the waitress appeared for their drink order.  Once she’d disappeared again, Fury turned his shark-like smile on Clint again.  “I hear I have you to thank for getting Phil out of his office?” he said.  “That’s quite a feat.”

Phil, who’d taken a chair on the other side of Clint from Natasha, narrowed his eyes at his friend.  “Nick…” he said in a low voice.

Nick turned to him with an arch look.  “If I didn’t work for the War Office, Phil, sometimes I might actually be concerned that you were dead, instead of just busy with new and interesting… cases,” he said in a voice that even to Clint, who didn’t know Fury all that well, was all too knowing.  Then again, if Fury really did work for the War Office, he wasn’t just a spy, but a well-connected one.

Arching an eyebrow, Phil stared him down.  “Have you been misappropriating resources and having me followed again?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.

“Well, how else am I going to know how my old friend is doing?” Fury replied.  “You don’t call anymore, Phil.  Besides, it’s good practice for the junior agents and it’s comforting to know that you can still lose a tail in two blocks.”

Clint blinked.  That was damn impressive.

“Yes, well,” Phil said, the tips of his ears flushing slightly.  “It’s a skill that comes in useful sometimes.”

“Indeed,” Natasha agreed, toasting Fury’s curious glance with her cocktail.

After the waitress brought Clint, Phil and Fury’s drinks and they’d placed their dinner orders, the conversation turned to politics and Clint let himself fade out of the discussion.  Instead, he let his gaze drift over the room again, unconsciously checking for threats and noting the usual faces amongst the other diners.  On the stage, the band had just finished setting up and Clint found his interest caught by that evenings’ singer when she sauntered out.  She was wearing a high-collared, black and silver Chinese silk dress, her brown hair held back from her face by several glittering hair pins.  There was an exotic hint to her features that fit the club perfectly and Clint had to admit, as young as she might be, she was also very pretty.

“She calls herself Skye,” Fury said, having obviously followed Clint’s eyes with his own.  “She likes sticking her nose into other peoples’ business and I have it on very good authority that she’s exceptional at filing.”

Clint turned, amused, to find Phil frowning at Fury.  “Are you trying to imply something?” Phil asked.

Fury smiled.  “No.  I’m _saying_ you need a new secretary and it’s always useful to have someone who also knows their way around an investigation,” he replied.

“I do have Clint to help, you know,” Phil said dryly, a faint trace of reproach in his voice as he addressed his old friend.

Fury’s gaze slid to Clint again.  “He’s relegated you to _filing_?” he said.

Clint couldn’t help the mischievous smile at the memory of Phil’s aghast expression after Clint’s one and only attempt at filing.  “Actually, I’ve been banned from touching any and all files in that office,” he told Fury.  “Apparently, my illogical and disreputable influence was corrupting the system.”

Chuckling, Fury toasted Clint with his scotch and turned back to Phil.  “You’re right,” he said.  “I _do_ like him.”

Flashing Phil a flirtatious smile and a wink, Clint toasted back with his own cocktail.  “What’s not to like?” he replied.

Phil sighed, but from the amusement glinting in his eyes, it was more playful than genuine.  “No one appreciates organisation anymore,” he complained.

Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “While Clint may not perhaps be gifted with filing skills, he _is_ an exceptional dancer,” she said, before draining the last of her cocktail.  “Shall we show them?”

Clint grinned.  “Now how can I resist that?” he replied, offering her a hand and escorting her onto the dancefloor, feeling Phil’s eyes on him the whole way.

 

 

*~*

Phil watched as Clint expertly spun Natasha around the dancefloor.  They were a striking and graceful pair, and Phil’s eye wasn’t the only one they’d caught.  Natasha moved confidently, at ease with Clint in a way she was with very few others.  Clint’s hand rested on the skin of her back bared by her dress almost protectively, but his eyes were hot when they met Phil’s.  Phil let a small smirk curve his lips, not hiding who he was watching, and let himself enjoy himself for a moment.  Beside him, Nick was almost loudly thoughtful and Phil waited patiently for his old friend to say what was on his mind.

“I meant what I said before, you know,” Nick said finally.  “I do like Barton.  He’s disreputable, yes, but he’ll watch your back and that will help me sleep better at night.”

Phil turned to look at Nick.  Those were not the words he’d been expecting.  Nick smirked as if he knew it.  “Besides, it could be argued that you could use a little disreputable in your life, Phil,” he continued, “and there’s no denying that he’ll keep you on your toes.”

Smiling a little wistfully, Phil felt his eyes stray towards Clint again for a moment.  “Clint is intelligent, intuitive and insightful in a way I’ve rarely seen,” he said.  “Without his help on the case at the Savoy last month, it would have taken me a lot longer to untangle what was going on.  His help was invaluable.”

“Yes,” Nick agreed.  “He’ll make almost a good a detective as you one day, but that wasn’t what I meant and you know it.”

Phil tensed, unable to help it.  As discreet as the Green Dragon might have been, a conversation like this was not one Phil would ever feel comfortable conducting in public, no matter how obliquely.  “Nick…” Phil began, but Nick cut him off.

“You appear to have gathered yourself a family, Phil,” Nick said, faintly amused and his gaze sharply knowing.  “Or would it be more accurate to say they gathered you?”

Phil’s eyes drifted back to Clint and Natasha, who were now performing some sort of complicated dance move to the delight of their audience.  “I already have a family, Nick.  I have you, Bobbi and Jasper,” he said.  “I’m just adding to it.”

“Two spies, a Scotland Yard detective, a scoundrel and a Russian princess,” Nick said.  “Interesting choice in family.”

Phil rolled his eyes, before fading into silence.  “Why are you holding back, Phil?” Nick asked quietly, his gaze searching Phil’s face.  “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

Letting his gaze roam the evening crowd, Phil was silent for a long moment.  “Fear, I think,” he replied.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve let someone in.”

“You said you trust him,” Nick said.

“Yes,” Phil replied, because there was no doubt about that.

The corner of Nick’s mouth twisted as if he was fighting a smile, but his gaze was serious.  “And does he trust you?” he said.

Phil nodded, thinking back to the little snatches of childhood that Clint had shared with him.  “Yes, he does,” he answered.  Then he shot Nick a look, because he knew where Nick was going with that.  “I _know_ Clint trusts me.  It’s just that in practice, it’s not that easy.”

Nick snorted.  “This from the man who stared down how many enemy soldiers armed only with a pistol and a grenade?” he said archly.

“My partner was in danger,” Phil countered almost immediately, before he rolled his eyes.  “How is Bobbi, anyway?”

“Running circles around everyone else as usual,” Nick replied with a smile.  “And don’t change the subject.”

Phil stared at his drink for a long moment.  He hadn’t exactly been celibate his entire life, but after a long string of lovers who had all eventually left him, Phil wasn’t sure he was strong enough to watch Clint walk away too.  “I love him,” Phil whispered, glancing up at Nick, “and if I give into this, I’m not sure what’s going to happen when he leaves.”

Nick blinked.  Then he frowned.  “I’m suddenly inclined to call Bobbi back from her mission just so I can watch her smack you for being stupid,” he said.

“Nick…” Phil began.

“Oh, don’t you _Nick_ me,” he shot back.  “Barton can’t keep his eyes off you, he’s moved into the small spare room in your apartment instead of keeping his suite at the Savoy and, unless I’ve missed some important information, he’s spent the last month helping you investigate some small -- and frankly very boring -- cases.” Nick sent Phil a pointed look.  “What does that evidence suggest to you, Detective?”

“I don’t deny that Clint wants to stay for now,” Phil said,  “but there’s a difference between staying for a while and staying forever.  I want forever, Nick.”

“Then ask him,” Nick replied.

Phil frowned.  “That’s hardly…” he started.

Nick snorted.  “If you want him to stay forever, then ask him to,” he said.  “Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

“Are we counting the times you almost got me shot?” Phil asked, arching an eyebrow.

Nick glared back.  “Just ask him,” he repeated firmly.

Phil glanced over to where Clint and Natasha were heading back to their table, breathless and laughing.  He knew Nick was right.  “I’ll try,” he said.

 

 

*~*


	2. A Brush with Danger

 

_The Green Dragon Club, London, July 20th, 1934_

The air was cool by the time Clint stumbled out of the Green Dragon Club.  He wasn’t sure exactly what hour it was, only that it was late.  Dinner had turned into sharing stories of old adventures over dessert and Clint couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed quite so much.  Fury’s sly sense of humour melded well with Phil’s deadpan wit and even Natasha had been laughing loudly by the end.  Clint counted it as a mark of pride that some of his more outrageous his old tales had had Phil and Fury grinning too.

Turning to look at Phil, Clint took in the way his cheeks were faintly flushed and his eyes bright and warm, enjoying the sight even if Phil was less dishevelled than Clint would prefer.  “Glad you decided to come out after all?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” Phil said, leaning in to bump his shoulder gently with Clint’s.  “I am.”

Clint grinned.  Behind him and Phil, Fury was gallantly escorting Natasha, their heads dipped slightly towards each other as they talked in earnest, although about what Clint wasn’t sure.  “I told you,” Clint said, sliding his gaze back to Phil with a wink.

Phil chuckled and the rich, slightly husky sound curled through Clint’s stomach.  He opened his mouth to tease Phil a little more, but the distinct sound of a motorcar engine from close by distracted him.  They were still close to the Green Dragon Club, but this part of the street was dark and Clint was struck by a sudden bad feeling.  Despite the late hour, there were still plenty of motorcars around and Clint scanned them sharply, not sure where the noise that had caught his attention had come from.

“Clint?” Phil asked quietly.

The loud squeal of tyres behind him and Fury’s shout of warning had Clint reacting on instinct before he truly knew what was going on.  Surging forwards, he grabbed Phil by the arm and hauled the other man away from the street.  His heart leapt into his throat as he watched a large, black motorcar jump the curb right where they’d been standing.  Without thinking of the danger to himself, Clint stepped in front of Phil, although he wasn’t sure what he could do.  All the same, his hand immediately reached for one of the knives he always carried with him.  “Go!” he shouted, turning back to Phil long enough to give him a push in Fury and Natasha’s direction.

Glancing back towards the motorcar, Clint saw a flash of movement that had his blood running cold.  A large man, his face covered by a black scarf, was leaning out of one of the motorcar’s windows, a gun held in his gloved hand.  Clint’s instincts screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t just leave Phil unprotected.  Clint got ready to throw his knife as the gunman yelled something, eyes narrowed as he pointed the gun straight at Clint.  Before Clint could do anything, however, a strong arm caught him around the waist and suddenly he was falling as he heard the loud shot of the gun going off and a burning pain seared across his arm.  Slamming into the cold, wet stones of the gutter, Clint grunted, another bullet hitting the street not far from where he now lay sprawled, Phil’s firm, warm body on top of his.

For a single, sharp moment, the rest of the world faded away and all Clint could do was stare helplessly into Phil’s wide eyes, Phil’s heart thumping against his chest.  Nearby, he could hear Fury’s shouts and several more gunshots as tyres squealed again and the motorcar drove away, but he was trapped by Phil’s blue gaze.  “Clint…” Phil whispered, before he glanced down towards Clint’s arm.  “You’re bleeding!”

Clint groaned slightly as Phil pushed up and off him, suddenly very aware of the throbbing pain in his arm.  Hearing footsteps coming back in their direction, Clint reached for the knife he’d dropped when Phil had pulled him out of the way of the gun, but it was only Natasha and Fury returning from chasing the motorcar.  Fury looked angry and dangerous, a sleek gun in his hand that disappeared back underneath his jacket as Clint watched and Natasha held the large knife she usually kept in her garter.

“Whoever they were, they got away,” Fury said darkly, his jaw clenching.  “As soon as I get back to my office, I’ll have one of my agents look into it.”

“There’s no need,” Phil said quietly as he helped Clint back to his feet, being carefully not to jostle Clint’s injured arm.  “I know exactly who they were -- Ten Rings Triad thugs.  I think they’re holding a grudge over what happened at the Savoy last month.”

Fury frowned at him.  “You have an entire Triad with a grudge against you?” he snapped.

Phil rolled his eyes.  “I can handle it,” he said calmly, the firm edge to his voice proving he wouldn’t back down on this.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I think we should get Clint to a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Clint replied.  “It’s just a scratch.”

Natasha, muttering curses in Russian under her breath, stalked over to Clint.  With a sharp glare, she poked him in the arm and arched an eyebrow an eyebrow when he hissed with pain.  “You were shot,” she said.

Clint scowled.  “I was hurt worse in Istanbul,” he replied.

“That’s not entirely comforting, Clint,” Phil said quietly, standing protectively on Clint’s other side.

The lines on Phil’s forehead had deepened and he was frowning faintly as he studied Clint, his face still a shade too pale.  Natasha didn’t look much better, her green eyes sharp and fierce and her fingers still curled tightly around the hilt of her knife.  “I’m _fine_ ,” Clint told them both.  “It’s just a small scratch.”

“Yes, but you could have…” Phil started to say, before he cut himself off ruthlessly.  Clint wondered what it was that Phil had been about to say.

The moment was interrupted by Fury’s approach.  The glance he shot Clint was assessing in a way it hadn’t been the entire evening.  Offering Clint his fedora, which had tumbled off in the scuffle, Fury nodded once to Clint.  Then he slid his eye towards Phil.  “How do you intend to deal with the Ten Rings?” he asked.

“I will not be bullied or intimidated,” Phil replied, his gaze narrowed and his tone hard.  “Once they realise that, they’ll back off.”

“Tonight didn’t just look like intimidation, Phil,” Fury said.

Natasha’s hand curled around Clint’s as they watched Phil clench his jaw and glance away from Fury.  “Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Clint said firmly.  “They can’t scare us off.”

Fury’s lips quirked into a small smile.  “No, I very much doubt they can,” he agreed.  Then he nodded towards Clint’s arm.  “You need to look after that.”

“He’s right, _dousha_ ,” Natasha said, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek and then smirking a little as she wiped away the trace of her lipstick.  “You should let Phil take you home.”

“I’ll make sure Miss Romanoff reaches the Savoy Hotel without harm, I promise,” Fury told him solemnly.

Turning towards him, Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “I can take care of myself, Mr Fury,” she said in a dangerous voice.

“I do not doubt that you can, Miss Romanoff,” Fury replied, inclining his head as a faint smile pulled at his lips.

Normally, Natasha’s expression would have had Clint smirking, but his heart was still pounding from the adrenaline over his recent brush with danger.  “Please, Tash,” he said.  “For me?”

“Only if you promise to let Phil look at your arm,” Natasha countered firmly.

Clint nodded, knowing Natasha was right and trying not to wince at the way his whole arm was throbbing with his heartbeat.  Glancing up, he met Phil’s eyes and couldn’t help but swallow thickly.  It seemed that perhaps that was not all that he and Phil needed to do.  “I promise,” he said to Natasha softly.

“Good,” Natasha said, before arching an elegant eyebrow at him.  “And Clint?  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

*~*

_Apartment 401, Regent’s Court, London, July 20th, 1934_

Phil was grateful when they made it back to the relative peace of his apartment.  The sight of Clint standing between Phil and the motorcar had _terrified_ him and he wasn’t sure what to do about that, or how to quiet the storm of emotions still swirling through him.  His heart was still beating madly, as if it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, and no amount of deep breathes were helping.  Turning, he caught the way Clint was leaning rather heavily against the doorframe.  “You should sit down,” Phil told him, suddenly worried Clint’s injury was worse than he’d let on.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Clint replied, even as he did was Phil had suggested and headed towards the small sofa.  “I’m just tired.”

Grateful that he’d chosen his private sitting room rather than the one he kept for clients, Phil moved to hang up his coat and hat and tried to ignore the way his hands were still shaking.  Taking another deep breath, he spared a moment to compose himself, before turning back to Clint.  “Let me help,” Phil said, crossing over to where Clint was sitting on the sofa, trying to hide a wince as he struggled with his coat and jacket.  

“Thank you,” Clint said quietly.

Carefully, Phil helped Clint ease off his coat and then his ruined jacket, revealing the bloodstained sleeve of Clint’s shirt beneath.  The blood was a bright splash of red against the white cotton and Phil’s stomach clenched at the thought of how bad it could have been.  “Well, once again, my tailor to going to be angry with me,” Clint quipped, breaking the growing silence.  “He despairs at the rate at which I ruin clothes.”

“I…” Phil said, clearing his throat as he rose to his feet.  “I’ll go and fetch some water to clean that.”

“Phil…” Clint began, but Phil just gave him a tight smile and headed towards the kitchen.

Phil knew he needed to get control over his emotions so that he could help Clint clean and dress the wound the bullet had left, but his hands just wouldn’t stop shaking.  When he’d seen the Triad thug levelling his gun at Clint, Phil’s heart stopped with a sickening lurch and the breath had frozen in his lungs.  It had taken a shout from Nick to jolt him out of his daze and even now, Phil wasn’t quite sure he was willing to face _why_ Clint had done what he had.

Filling a basin with water and grabbing several towels, Phil returned to the sitting room and tried to reassure himself that Clint was safe and relatively unhurt.  Clint was still perched on the sofa, only now he had removed his vest and tie.  His shirt was also unbuttoned, revealing an all too tempting glimpse of the smooth skin of Clint’s chest and stomach.  Swallowing as a flood of inappropriate thoughts invaded his mind, Phil clenched his hands around the basin and tried to ignore dishevelled, half-naked and thoroughly disreputable picture Clint made.  “I don’t suppose you could help me with my shirt too?” Clint asked him, something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Of course,” Phil said, setting the basin carefully on the floor.

Easing the fabric off Clint’s shoulder, Phil gently slid the shirt down Clint’s well-muscled arm.  If this was any other situation, being so close to Clint when he was in such a state of undress would have flustered Phil, but this time he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the nasty cut on Clint’s bicep.  “Phil,” Clint said, low and fierce, and Clint’s strong hand came up to cover Phil’s.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

Clint’s blue eyes were earnest as they stared into Phil’s, beseeching Phil to believe him.  Phil couldn’t look away.  He offered Clint a smile, but his expression still felt strained.  “I know scoundrels are used to getting into trouble on a frequent basis, but some of us aren’t so calm when it happens,” he said, trying to cover his lingering fear with a light tone.

Clint snorted.  “This from a man who used to catch spies?” he replied.

His lips quirking into a faint smile, Phil concentrated on cleaning the cut on Clint’s arm as gently as he could.  Clint still hissed out a breath from between his teeth at the first touch of the soapy water.  “Sorry,” Phil whispered.

“It’s fine,” Clint replied, just as quietly.

Clint’s skin was warm under Phil’s fingers and Phil had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the urge to slide his hand higher on Clint’s arm and explore the flex of those solid muscles under his palm.  “This shouldn’t need stitches,” he said in an effort to distract himself, “but I’d still feel better if you went to see a doctor in the morning.”

“If it still hurts, I will,” Clint promised.

Phil glanced up to catch Clint’s smirk, surprised as how close they suddenly seemed.  This near, Phil could see the flecks of green and gold in Clint’s eyes and breathe in the elusive, musky scent of Clint’s cologne.  “Good,” Phil said, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.  “Ah… I should get a bandage for that.”

Clint didn’t attempt to stop him, but Phil knew he wanted to say something.  When Phil returned from fetching the linen bandage, Clint was sitting on the edge of the sofa and his expression hadn’t shifted.  He stayed silent and watchful as Phil carefully bandaged his arm, and if Phil spent a moment or two longer than necessary settling the bandage in place, neither of them mentioned it.  “I suppose I should say thank you,” Phil said finally, looking up at Clint with a smile.  “I’m not used to having a partner looking out for me.”

“I didn’t do it because you’re my partner,” Clint told him.

Phil blinked.  The smile Clint gave him looked forced, but Phil didn’t know why and he felt his heart leap into his throat as something in his chest twisted sharply.  “Then why _did_ you save me?” he asked.

Clint rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something, but his eyes were intent and clear when he looked at Phil.  “I saved you, Phil, because I’m in love with you,” he said, “and the idea of a world without you in it scares me.”

For a long, silent moment, all Phil could do was stare at Clint.  He was sure his heart had stopped beating completely.  “You love me?” he repeated helplessly.

“Yes,” Clint replied, finally glancing away.  “I know that might not be what you want to hear…”

“No!” Phil said, surging forward to grab Clint’s hand as he pulled away and _hating_ the flash of hurt he saw in Clint’s blue eyes.  “I mean, yes!  I…”  Shutting his mouth, Phil took a breath and tried to gather his scrambled thoughts.  “I _do_ want to hear that,” he said resolutely.  “You wouldn’t believe how much I want to hear that.”

A heartbreakingly sweet smile dawned across Clint’s face.  “I…” Phil continued, taking another deep breath.  “I’m in love with you too.”

Stretching out a hand, Clint curled his fingers around the edge of Phil’s vest and tugged Phil closer.  Phil pressed a hand to Clint’s chest to stop him, needing to say something else first.  “I just… I have to warn you, Clint, that this isn’t temporary for me.  I want you for as long as I can get.”

Clint chuckled softly, still looking so undeniably _happy_ that Phil couldn’t resist him anymore.  “Haven’t you worked it out yet, Detective?” Clint asked, leaning in enough that Phil could feel Clint’s breath on his lips.  “I’ve practically invaded your life.  I made the decision to stay a long time ago.  For as long as you want me.”

“Forever,” Phil whispered against Clint’s mouth.  “I want you forever.”

Kissing Clint while they were both smiling should have been awkward and in a way it was, but at the same time it was also satisfyingly _real_.  Like for the first time since Clint had sauntered his way into Phil’s ordered life, Phil finally had a piece of solid ground underneath his feet.  Clint’s hand came up to cradle Phil’s jaw, his thumb brushing Phil’s cheek as he deepened the kiss.  Phil’s hand stroked down from where it had been resting over Clint’s heart, the firm muscles of Clint’s chest and stomach warm underneath his palm.  Clint hummed, pressing Phil back against the sofa as he freed his other arm from his ruined shirt.  Phil tried to help, still concerned with Clint’s injury, but somehow he only ended up tracing his hands over Clint’s smooth skin.  Grunting a little as he shifted again, Clint pulled back slightly with a grimace.  “Not that I’ll ever tire of kissing you, but this isn’t the most comfortable I’ve ever been,” he said.

Phil nodded his agreement.  He curled rather uncomfortably in the corner of the sofa, his legs tangled with Clint’s and Clint’s weight resting heavily against him.  “Besides,” Clint said, dipping his head for another brief kiss.  “I rather think I need to peel you out of that suit.”

Any words Phil had dried up in his throat.  Clint looked every inch the scoundrel he was reputed to be, his eyes dark as he looked down at Phil.  Climbing off Phil and the sofa, Clint offered his hand, tugging Phil to his feet.  Pulling him closer, Clint slid his hands into Phil’s jacket and along Phil’s sides.  Phil shivered at the warmth of the touch through the cotton of his shirt, his own hand coming up to grab Clint’s uninjured bicep.  “Please,” Phil whispered, uncaring of the plea in his voice.

He _needed_ Clint’s skin under his hands, the solid press of Clint’s body against him.  Phil had been cold and alone for so long and now that he had Clint -- beautiful, _brave_ Clint -- it was almost overwhelming.  Clint’s nimble fingers undid the knot of Phil’s tie and slid it from his neck, before flicking open the top button of Phil’s shirt.  Leaning in, Clint pressed a kiss to the small piece of skin he’d uncovered and Phil felt his breath hitch.  “Just tell me what you need Phil,” Clint whispered against his skin.

Phil’s grip tightened for a moment, his other hand coming up to rest on the small of Clint’s back.  “You,” Phil replied helplessly.  “I just need you.”

Clint pressed another kiss above the collar of Phil’s shirt, before leaning back with a soft chuckle.  Amusement lit Clint’s eyes, making them seem impossibly bright, as he opened his mouth to no doubt tease Phil.  All of Phil’s famed control had disappeared and that should have concerned him, but this was Clint.  He trusted Clint with everything he had.  Clint must have seen some of that reflected on Phil’s face, because his expression softened, his eyes going wide with a sense of wonder.  “Come on,” Clint said softly, grabbing Phil’s hand and pulling him towards the bedroom.

Phil gestured towards the sofa, where Clint’s jacket and shirt were strewn, but Clint shrugged and flashed a grin.  “My tailor will already be angry with me,” he said.  “A few creases won’t matter.”

As Clint led the way into Phil’s bedroom, Phil’s heart started beating faster, his awareness of everything around him dimming until his focus was centered on the man in front of him.  Phil’s eyes traced over the sleek muscle of Clint’s shoulders and chest, amazed at what Clint had been hiding under his suits.  His body was lean and well-muscled, intersected with silvery scars that proved his life had been as difficult and dangerous as Clint had sometimes hinted.  Phil wanted to touch and learn that body and the stories behind every mark, until he’d memorised the smooth slide of Clint’s skin beneath his hands, the tantalizing scent of Clint’s cologne surrounding them and the taste of Clint across his tongue.

“Like what you see, Detective?” Clint teased, seemingly unable to stop the smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“Yes,” Phil replied simply.  “I’ve liked what I see from the first moment I saw you.”

Clint groaned softly, before dragging Phil in for another kiss.  Despite his rough treatment of his own clothes, Clint slid Phil’s jacket off his shoulders with care, draping it over the back of the chair in the corner of Phil’s room, before doing the same with Phil’s vest.  Grabbing Clint by the waist when he turned back, Phil pulled him close, wanting to be as near to Clint as possible.  Phil fell into the kiss as Clint traced Phil’s lower lip with his tongue, deepening it when Phil gasped.  His hands were fisted in the fabric of Phil’s shirt, clearly distracted from his plan to peel Phil out of his shirt.  Clint drew back after a long moment, just enough to meet Phil’s gaze, his own eyes dark and strangely vulnerable.  Reaching up, Clint ghosted his fingers over Phil’s cheekbones, tracing over Phil’s face as if Clint was memorising it, before Clint leaned back in for another kiss.

Phil could appreciate the sentiment -- he didn’t want to forget a moment of what was happening either, as Clint slipped his shirt off his shoulders, pushing the sleeves down his arms and fighting with the cuffs.  Phil attempted to help, but his fingers were clumsy as he stripped off his undershirt.  Clint hands were achingly warm as they stroked down Phil’s chest to his stomach and Clint’s eyes were teasing as Clint dipped his head to kiss Phil’s collarbone.  “So beautiful,” Clint breathed, his hands sliding over Phil’s naked chest.

Phil wanted to glance away, but Clint wouldn’t let him.  He knew what he looked like -- he might not have been quite as soft around the middle as some of his peers, but he was hardly as muscular as the scoundrel standing in front of him.  “I’m serious, Phil,” Clint said softly.  “I love your mind, and those eyes that don’t miss _anything_ , but right now I’m having trouble stringing a sentence together and you’re not even completely naked yet.”

Phil wasn’t quite sure he could find words enough to reply, so he simply reached for Clint and tried to pour all his love, disbelief and gratitude into the kiss.  Phil didn’t know who he was grateful to exactly -- whether it was to the universe for bringing Clint into his life, or Clint himself for seeing something in Phil that was worth something -- but he was.  Together, they made short work of their remaining clothes, leaving trousers and socks strewn across Phil’s bedroom and for once Phil didn’t care.  He had Clint in his arms and a few wrinkled clothes didn’t seem like much of a consideration in comparison.  They stumbled towards the bed and when Clint’s knees hit the edge, he half fell backwards, pulling Phil with him.  Phil laughed softly as they landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs.  He braced himself above Clint on his elbows, content to lie there for a moment and soak in the reality of finally having Clint in his bed.  Clint was having none of it, however.  He arched up and groaned softly as their erections slid against each other.

Clint slid a hand up Phil’s thigh, his fingers lightly teasing as Phil ducked his head to drag his tongue down Clint’s impressive chest.  Clint trailed his fingers over Phil’s hip and up to tease the sensitive spot at the base of Phil’s spine until Phil felt as if he was melting under Clint’s touch.  Phil didn’t stop his own slow exploration of Clint’s chest despite the distractions, leaning down to lick one of Clint’s nipples and making Clint gasp.  “ _Phil_ ,” Clint growled, his breath hitching, before he dragged Phil up for another hot, deep kiss.

Wrapping a leg encouragingly around the back of Phil’s thigh, Clint rocked upwards and they both groaned softly.  Unable to resist the temptation of Clint spread out beneath him, flushed and wanting, Phil dipped his head to taste the skin of his neck and collarbone.  His nerves tingled with every shift of his hips against Clint’s, the slide of Clint’s hands setting him on fire from the inside out.  He kept one hand on Clint’s chest, pressed flat, feeling the rise and fall with each of Clint’s breaths and the beat of Clint’s heart underneath his fingers.  Clint arched his back again with a gasp and Phil raised his head long enough to catch Clint’s wicked grin, before Clint’s hand at his shoulder was pushing, gracefully flipping them until Phil was sprawled across the bed, Clint rising above him, straddling his thighs.

“So beautiful,” Clint muttered, his voice low and hoarse and his eyes dark.

Phil barely had a moment to revel in the fact that it was _him_ who was making Clint look that wrecked and needy, before Clint was leaning down for a desperate kiss.  Phil groaned into Clint’s mouth at the press of Clint’s slick skin against his, but Phil needed _more_ , heat beginning to pool in the pit of his stomach.  “Clint,” he gasped out.  “I need…this isn’t going to…”

Clint silenced him by stretching up for another messy kiss that wasn’t much more than them panting into each other’s mouths.  The endless roll of Clint’s hips drew breathless moans and whimpers out of Phil, lightning crackling up his spine.  Clint’s hot mouth moved over Phil’s skin, his grip almost bruising when Phil tangled their fingers together.  Somehow, Clint managed to slip a hand between them without breaking their rhythm and Phil muttered Clint’s name against his lips, back arching.  The rough twist of Clint’s calloused palm around Phil’s dick sent Phil flying over the edge with a strangled gasp, his hips snapping up and spots dancing across his vision as he came.

Clint groaned above him, his head dropping to rest on Phil’s shoulder as he panted.  “Phil…” he keened.  Clumsily, Phil reached down to close a hand around Clint’s and a few strokes later he was coming too, swearing as his back bowed.

Collapsing forward, Clint slumped half over Phil’s chest, mindless of the sweaty, sticky mess between them.  His solid weight pressed Phil into the bed as Phil curled his arms around Clint as they tried to catch their breath.  Phil could feel Clint’s heart racing against his as residual shocks tingled down the entire length of his spine.  They lay there for a while until their breathing slowed.  Idly, Phil traced his fingers up and down Clint’s back, his eyes slipping closed as bright, happy contentment spread through his chest.

Shifting finally, Clint yawned widely, before leaning over to nuzzle Phil’s jaw, a thick lock of hair falling over his forehead.  Phil had always thought Clint was strikingly handsome with his sharp blue eyes and the edge of danger that surrounded him, but like this -- soft and warm and happy -- he was absolutely gorgeous.  Phil’s heart did a large, slow loop in his chest, reaching up to cradle Clint’s cheek as Clint pulled back to watch him.  He smiled when Clint leaned into the touch.  “Shilling for your thoughts, Detective?” Clint asked, his voice still a little rough.

“I’m happy,” Phil replied.  “Just happy.”

Grinning, Clint pressed closer for a slow, lazy kiss.  “Me too,” he whispered.

*~*

Clint woke slowly, comfortable and almost impossibly content.  His face was buried in a pillow that smelt like Phil and even if he didn’t remember exactly what had happened in vivid detail, the relaxed, sated heaviness in his body would have proved it.  Rolling over, he blinked open his eyes, immediately searching for Phil.  Part of Clint didn’t expect to find Phil still in bed -- the detective was an early riser and Clint could already tell from the angle of the sunlight coming in through a crack in the curtains that it was late morning.  Clint couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face when he found Phil still curled up in bed, dozing lightly.  “Good morning,” Clint said quietly.

“Good morning,” Phil replied as he opened his beautiful blue eyes.

Phil looked softer than usual in the morning light and Clint wasn’t sure if that was because Phil always looked soft and sleepy in the mornings or because Phil was finally letting him beneath the armour he wore against the world.  Stretching an arm out from underneath the blankets, Phil reached out to trace around the bandage on Clint’s arm with gentle fingers.  “How’s your arm?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” Clint reassured him.  “It barely hurts, I promise.”

Phil’s eyes clouded for a moment, as if he was remembering the far less pleasurable events of the night before and Clint couldn’t help the way he reached out to smooth his thumb over the creases on Phil’s forehead.  “You terrified me when you stepped between me and the Triad thug,” Phil admitted quietly.

Clint grimaced faintly.  “I think I terrified myself too,” he said, “but I’d do it again, if it meant protecting you.”

“Clint…” Phil began, but Clint just shifted closer and pressed a finger to Phil’s lips.

“I mean it,” Clint said, letting Phil see the remnants of his fear and the strength of his determination.  “I’m not losing you now that I’ve found you.  Even if that means stepping in between you and bullets.  Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same if it had been me.”

Phil tilted his head forward to rest it against Clint’s.  “I would have,” he agreed softly.  “I would just prefer it if neither of us ever had to do it again.”

“Yes,” Clint hummed in reply, shifting so he could press a kiss to Phil’s lips.  One kiss lead to another and Clint grinned happily when Phil pushed him over onto his back again, before settling over him.  Clint rested a hand against Phil’s neck, his thumb idly stroking Phil’s jaw as the other slid over Phil’s hip under the blankets.  Smirking slightly, Phil leaned down for a kiss, deep and a little bit wicked.  He gasped as Phil glided a hand down his chest, arching up slightly into the touch.

When the telephone rang loudly a minute later, Clint couldn’t have stopped his groan if he’d tried.  “No,” he muttered against Phil’s lips as the other man tried to pull away.  “Ignore it.”

“It could be a client,” Phil said, sounding down amused and regretful.  “Or Fury.”

“Well, Fury should know better than to ring you this morning,” Clint told him, refusing to relinquish his grip on Phil.

“Oh, should he?” Phil asked, dipping his head for another kiss.

“Yes,” Clint agreed, arching up and trying his hardest to distract Phil from any and all thoughts of detective work.  When Phil finally managed to pull away again, he was panting and Clint couldn’t help feeling smug at that.  The telephone had also stopped ringing.  “See?” he said.  “Nothing to worry about.”

Shaking his head, Phil looked down at him.  “Did you not get enough of me last night?” he asked.

“Never,” Clint told him seriously.  “I’ll never get enough of you, Phil.”

Just when it looked like Phil was going to give in and spend the rest of the morning in bed with Clint, the telephone started to ring again.  Somehow, it almost sounded angry this time.  “That,” Phil said, dipping his head for a brief kiss, before climbing out of the bed, “will be Fury.”

Unabashedly, Clint propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Phil found his underwear and pulled them on, along with his trousers and his rather rumbled undershirt.  Glancing back at Clint, Phil rolled his eyes when he caught Clint watching, but there was a smile curving at the corner of his mouth.  Slumping back down onto the bed, Clint grinned up at the ceiling and listened to Phil’s quiet footsteps as he walked towards his office to answer the still shrilly ringing phone.  Regardless of what the telephone call was about, Clint couldn’t really find it within himself to be truly angry with the interruption.  For the first time in more years than he was willing to admit, he wasn’t just content with his life, but actually _happy_.  He could see the years stretching ahead of him, filled with Phil and his smiles and sharp observations, visits from Natasha and Fury and interesting cases to untangle.  It was more than a small orphan boy had once believed he could ever have and Clint would hold onto his future with both hands.

“That was Fury on the telephone,” Phil said, walking back into the bedroom and breaking Clint out of his thoughts.  “He has a lead on the Ten Rings that I think we should follow.  Do you feel like accompanying me to the disreputable side of the docks this afternoon?”

Smirking, Clint climbed out of the bed, not missing the way Phil’s eyes immediately traced over his naked chest.  “Always,” he replied, sliding his arms around Phil’s waist.  “However, I can’t imagine that it would be useful to follow this lead until late afternoon at the earliest.”

“Really?” Phil said, but he didn’t protest as Clint began leading him back towards the bed.

“Really,” Clint agreed, pressing forward for a kiss and Phil tumbled them both back down onto the sheets.

  
Fin.


End file.
